Chapter 272 — Exact Change

CHAPTER 272

Exact Change

“Four hundred and sixty,” Lin Yue said, and sat down hard on the bench.

Nobody in the shed said anything. Meng Zhuo was standing with his mouth open and one hand in his empty purse. Three hundred disciples held their breath, and the chestnut seller stopped counting bets.

On the Martial Palace benches, Meng Zhuo turned and looked up at Elder Qu Jiang. The elder was gazing at the roof with great interest. He had already paid eighty stones that morning for a punch he hadn't thrown.

“Elder?” Meng Zhuo whispered.

“Martial Palace,” Qu Jiang said, “has paid enough for one day. As long as the green hills remain, there's no fear of lacking firewood.”

“Sold,” Zhu Liu said, and rang the little bell with both hands. “To Hundred Flower Valley. Four hundred and sixty spirit stones.”

The Valley benches erupted. Su Wanning hugged Lin Yue, who sat stunned by the price she’d just offered. Others cheered the win over Meng Zhuo. At the back, Lin Langtian loudly reminded his neighbour that he’d always admired that joint.

“Four hundred and sixty,” Sima Lan said in her flat voice. She had finished her sum. “For a thirty-stone item. Fifteen times.”

“What do we do with it?” Zhu Liu asked.

“Put it in the ledger,” Sima Lan said. “Under pride.”

Shi Feng thought, Fifteen times, for two evenings of work. Beside him, Gongsun Ce looked as though he had lost another bet, though he couldn't say which one.

The Valley's camp stood on the east terrace, a row of white tents Li Changyuan had rented from a Duanyang tent-maker at ruinous rates. Shi Feng was halfway across the practice ground when a figure in pale green stopped in his path.

It was a Valley junior he didn't know. She bowed and held out a folded note.

“Disciple Ling says the buyer is to receive her purchase from the seller's hands,” the junior said. “Not from a clerk, and not from a platform.”

“The lot is collected at the platform,” Shi Feng said. “It's in the rules.”

“She says she isn't buying the platform,” the junior said.

He took the note. It was a single line in a clean, quick hand.

The thread pattern isn't Gongsun Ce's. Bring it yourself.

Shi Feng read it twice. Then he went back to Zhu Liu's table for the joint.

Ling Qingzhu sat on a low stool before her tent with a tray of tea at her knee. She had taken off her veil. She wore the silver clasp. When he came into view, she did not look up from the tea.

He stopped three paces away and held out the small box.

“Lot fourteen,” Shi Feng said.

“Open it,” Ling Qingzhu said.

He opened it. The silver joint lay on its black silk, dull and exact, with the fine groove along one side.

Ling Qingzhu took it out and turned it in the light. Her thumb passed along the groove and stopped.

“The same angle,” Ling Qingzhu said quietly. “You cut it the same way you cut my clasp.”

“It's the method in the notes,” Shi Feng said.

“I know,” Ling Qingzhu said, returning it to the silk. “I watched you use it.” Her thumb pressed the stool’s edge. “Four hundred and sixty, then. Let me count it.”

She laid the stones on the tray in neat rows, counting each one. Shi Feng waited. There was no careless extra payment and no invitation to keep the change. At four hundred and sixty, Ling Qingzhu stopped.

She took thirty back.

“What's that?” Shi Feng said.

“A deduction,” Ling Qingzhu said. “For the cloak.”

Shi Feng didn't move.

“The cloak you never returned,” Ling Qingzhu said, and finally raised her eyes. They were very bright. “Thirty stones. I've been generous.”

“That was a gift,” Shi Feng said.

“It was a loan,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“You gave it to me,” Shi Feng said.

“It was a loan,” Ling Qingzhu said. She put the thirty stones back in her purse and picked up her tea. “That's all, Disciple Shi. You may go.”

“…” Shi Feng said.

He bowed and turned away.

Behind him, the cup touched the tray without being drunk. Shi Feng knew that familiar sound. He kept walking instead of looking back toward her tent.

On the road back, Sima Lan was waiting at the stall with the ledger open and the stool set out. She looked at the purse in his hand, then at the stack of stones he laid on the table.

“Four hundred and thirty,” Sima Lan said.

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

“She paid exact,” Sima Lan said.

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

“And deducted thirty for a cloak,” Sima Lan said. “Which cloak?”

“No cloak,” Shi Feng said.

Sima Lan looked at him for a long moment. Then she wrote a line in the ledger, slowly, and did not tell him what it said.

In the dark of his storage ring, a folded blue cloak lay among his spare robes, exactly where it had lain all this time.